


Bloodstains and Heartaches

by MeyerMansi



Series: Penumbra but make it soulmates [2]
Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Sequel, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, i wasn't going to do all of season 1 yet here we are, peter is a very cynical narrator but he just wants love, rita is only there for a sec but i love her, typical warnings for angel of brahma stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:23:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22610140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeyerMansi/pseuds/MeyerMansi
Summary: Internally, Peter swears a little. Being this close to his soulmate makes him antsy. But, he has a job to do: both the one assigned to his alias and his true goal. And if getting paid requires brushing elbows with Juno Steel, so be it.Peter Nureyev has never put much stock into soulmates. Unfortunately, the universe seems to think otherwise.
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Series: Penumbra but make it soulmates [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1626868
Comments: 23
Kudos: 272





	Bloodstains and Heartaches

**Author's Note:**

> Surprise! I bet you thought you'd seen the last of me. Which is reasonable, considering it's been nearly a year since I posted the first part of this. But hey, we got Man in Glass, so Peter's internal monologue is even more cynical than I was originally planning! You don't need to have read the first part to understand this, btw, but it might help? Basically all you need to know is that everything is the same except your soulmate's name is written on your hand, and Juno's is a giant smudge.

“Pete, what’s the most vulnerable part of the human body?” Peter Nureyev considers the question.

“Eyes, maybe? With a knife, between the ribs, I think, or throat.” Mag nods approvingly, but Peter can tell this is going somewhere else.

“Close, my boy.” He wraps one hand around Peter’s wrist and lifts it, pointing at the back of his hand with the other. “Those points are good and well for doing physical damage, but _this_?” Peter stares at the spidery handwriting crawling across his skin. “This is the single greatest threat an enemy can hold against you.” He drops Peter’s hand and spreads his arms in a grand, dramatic gesture. “So today, we’re teaching you how to neutralize that threat.”

“Okay?” Peter gets up and follows Mag to the kitchen table, where an assortment of strange items have been sprawled out. 

"How much do you know about soulmarks, Pete?" Peter shrugs.

"Only what you've told me." Mag inclines his chin, unsurprised. Nearly all of Peter's knowledge consists of 'only what you've told me'. Luckily, Mag teaches him well. 

"And what does your mark say?"

"Juno Steel?" Peter doesn't have to look at his hand to answer. 

"Right. And do you know Juno?" 

"No." 

"And yet, Peter, Steel here is a more important connection than anyone else in your life, me included." Peter wrinkles his nose a little.

"Mag, I don't care about some person I've never met." 

"Of course you don't. Because you are a very smart young man. Trust me when I say that soulmates will get in the way of your thieving, and only get in the way." Peter nods. "That being said, you should figure out their identity when you get a chance. If people find out you don't know what your soulmate looks like, they'll threaten any old Joe on any street corner in Brahma." Peter considers this.

"So my soulmate is a danger because people will use them as leverage? I told you, Mag, I don't care." Peter can’t imagine someone being so important to him that he’d sacrifice a heist for them. Sure, he prefers people not to die as a general rule, but that isn’t _personal_. Mag chuckles. 

"One day, Pete, you just might. That's why I'm teaching you this now. But no, the reason they're a danger is much less sentimental. That mark is the most obvious form of identification in the world. It's like a tattoo that can't be removed or a scar that refuses to fade. One look at that name and you can be tracked to the ends of the galaxy." 

"Oh. That makes a lot more sense, honestly." 

"Exactly. So today, we're going to teach you how to conceal their identity." Mag holds up the tube of concealer, chuckling at the scathing glare he gets as the pun clicks in Peter's mind. “Oh yeah, makeup is great stuff for a thief. Now," He grabs another small, dark bottle. "Plenty of thieves will tell you that you need a good prosthetic or something drastic to really disguise your mark, but I'm here to tell you that they've just never applied themselves properly. Give me your hand." Peter does. "This should work." He grabs the concealer and promptly applies it across Peter's hand. It takes a few good coats, but soon enough, the dark sprawl of his mark has faded entirely. Peter turns his hand over a few times, fascinated by the plain expanse of skin, devoid of any discerning features. 

Mag returns to the hand with a brush and some sort of heavy powder, followed by a spray. 

"This is the important part. Pick a name, Pete, any name." Peter thinks for a moment. 

"Dahlia. Dahlia Rose." Mag raises an eyebrow.

"Interesting choice." He dips a tiny brush into the dark bottle. "This takes more work to do on yourself, but I'm sure you'll get the hang of it faster than I did." He presses the brush against the covered spot, and then carefully swirls it up and around, forming the first few letters. Soon, Dahlia Rose forms on Peter's hand, wet ink still glittering. 

"That's all there is to it. Change up your soulmate's identity whenever you like. It won't wash off very easily, but you can use this--" he tosses Peter a bottle. "--to get rid of it anytime. Make sense?" 

"Yes," Peter holds his hand up to the light. If he didn't know better, he would say that Dahlia Rose had always been his soulmate, spelled out there, clear as day. 

"Good. I see great things in you, my boy, and we can't have your soulmate complicating all that, can we?" Peter shakes his head. 

* * *

Peter gets absolutely fantastic at makeup, but his true skill shines when covering up his mark. None of his disguises are complete without a fake name and a backstory that relates. Mag was right about one thing: Peter’s soulmate is a massive liability. Not on his end--no, he’s got that handled--but because _Juno Steel_ is out there parading around with Peter’s name emblazoned on his hand. This happens to be a major inconvenience for anyone trying to disappear from written records altogether. Nothing makes him quite so uneasy as the knowledge that his soulmate is likely waving his name around in day to day life. If it was left up to him, Peter would simply choose to believe that his soulmate is a quiet, well-mannered individual who obeys the laws of their planet and sticks to themself. If he’s feeling particularly generous, Peter could imagine that they never put much stock in soulmates at all, and are happily with someone else who feels the same. Unfortunately, Peter doesn’t even have the luxury of imagination, because he knows who Juno Steel is. The Detective’s history is less of a paper trail and more of a flaming arrow. The first time Peter decided to look him up--for security purposes, naturally--he’d found a cash of misdemeanors, police records, news reports, murder cases: a chaotic, risky mess that coalesced itself into his soulmate. If Peter was being honest, he was a little impressed. But that was irrelevant. Juno Steel was an inconvenience. Miasma telling him to steal the mask didn’t change that. His identity as a Dark Matters agent didn’t change that. Sasha Wire’s voice, tiredly explaining his duties to him, didn’t change that. Though, he admits, he faltered a little on that last one. 

“And this is key, Glass: Keep Detective Steel from doing anything stupid.” Peter very carefully does not let himself choke on his drink. 

“Detective Steel?” Agent Wire sighs over the comms. 

“We’re sending you his address now. He was given a death threat regarding the case. Your job is to protect him, first and foremost. The person who murdered Croseous Kanagawa is probably coming for him next.”

“Understood, Agent. Understood loud and clear.” Internally, Peter swears a little. Being this close to his soulmate makes him antsy. _Liability._ But, he has a job to do: both the one assigned to his alias and his true goal. And if getting paid requires brushing elbows with Juno Steel, so be it.

The detective’s secretary is lovely. Easily charmed, yes, but Peter’s been around a lot of cunning people, and he doesn’t miss the spark of intelligence in her eyes even as she giggles vapidly at his compliment. He sweeps past her and into Steel’s office, every bit of him in character. He braces himself for Steel to be snappish, brush him off, flat-out refuse to work out with him, or even pull a gun. Who knows, honestly, what his soulmate is truly capable of.

...

“Detective Steel, are you trying to crawl out the window?” 

Juno Steel gives him a guilty look, head and shoulders well on their way to the fire escape. Peter--or rather, Rex Glass-strides across the room toward him. 

Peter already knows, theoretically, what Juno Steel looks like. His face isn’t exactly hidden, and there are enough articles, mugshots and ransom notes in Mars’s database that depict the detective well enough. But, Peter has never seen a photo that wasn’t at least a little grainy, and the most recent one was a few years old, an old picture Sasha had given him for identification purposes. So, when Juno Steel looks back at him, expression sheepish, Peter feels his chest tighten.

Juno is...very attractive. His hair is unkempt, not to mention his coat, and dark circles line his eyes. But the toll of his job and a general lack of effort do nothing to disguise a sharp jawline, full lips, and brilliant, calculating eyes. Peter’s breath catches, and he plays it off as a laugh, extending his hand. _Damn it._

It doesn’t get any better. Peter knows that Juno is a risk. He knows that he would be better off if they never had to meet. But _knowing_ isn’t enough to stop his heart from fluttering when Juno gives him a look, or from his lips quirking when Juno makes a joke. It isn’t enough to stop his very soul from aching when Juno speaks about his brother, voice cracking with pain, and it certainly isn’t enough to stop him from flirting, even more than Rex Glass strictly needs to. If it was anyone else, Peter would be having fun. It’s not every day he gets to flirt on the job, and he knows he’s good at it. He loves getting a blush or a laugh out of someone, and Juno is not an exception to that. Unfortunately, Juno is quite literally the most off-limits person in the galaxy. He’s a liability merely existing, and Peter finds his feelings making the situation worse, compounding on that initial danger with every second. He needs to stop. 

That’s not enough to stop him from going home with Juno, though. 

_It’s work,_ he justifies to himself. Sure, he could get the key through violence, easily enough. Juno’s a fighter (the thought sends an uncalled for little surge of pride through him, like a bragging husband) but he’s injured. Peter could overpower him, easy. But, that’s never been his style. Flirtation and espionage are part of the gig. He’s only doing his job. Only doing his job. Only doing his job. 

He kisses Juno, and Juno kisses back, and he _wants_ . Peter feels an odd spark from his hand, covered in a glove and powder and ink and more powder and foundation. His soulmark _begs_ for this, and he feels every fiber of his being wanting to give in. It would be so easy to move his hand away from Juno’s pocket and wind it into his hair instead. He frowns at his own thoughts. _Seriously, Nureyev?_ He sighs into the kiss, moves lower, and deliberately ignores the pang that travels through his hand as he uses it to grab the key from Juno Steel’s pocket. 

It’s Juno that actually breaks the kiss to look at him. His lashes are heavy, his lips curved in a soft smile, and some of that ever-present tension coiling through his body has let go. Peter’s soul nearly sobs with what he’s leaving behind. But this is how it has to be.

“Rex…”

But not yet.

“Has anyone ever told you…”

Right now, they’re not soulmates. They’re nothing more than two strangers with an unusual connection, who will never see each other again after tonight, and that is going to be enough.

“That you’re under arrest?” The cold metal of handcuffs snaps around Peter’s wrists.

Juno is staring at him with poorly concealed hurt, and it makes him want to scramble to explain himself. He wants to talk his way out of these handcuffs and back into Juno’s arms. Instead, he laughs a deliberately confused breath and sits back. Juno starts to explain, every ounce of that whip-sharp intelligence focused on Peter. He gestures and frowns--sneers, even--at Peter, fists clenched as he paces the space between them. All the _moral outrage_ from earlier has coalesced into something cooler and more analytical.

It’s then that Peter gives up. 

He feels a little silly, being so disparaging of his soulmate for years. His mental image of a bumbling, trouble-making detective with a digital footprint the size of Venus has been utterly shattered. Juno is clever, Juno is beautiful, and Peter realizes with a panicked little thrill that he is well on his way to being in love. _Of course Juno is wonderful_ , the narcissistic part of Peter thinks. _He’s_ **_my_ ** _soulmate, after all._ He reaches behind himself, into the abyss that is his pocket, still listening attentively. He knows Juno isn’t going to accept his offer, but he has to put it out there. He scratches pen across paper, hoping that it will come out intelligible. He’s reached the end--Juno is talking about the cops now, bless him. He hesitates over the signature, but not for as long as he should. He’s already made his mind up, after all. He presses pen to paper and writes _Peter Nureyev_ with as steady a hand as he can manage. It’s odd. He hasn’t written his real name down in easily twenty years, but the lines of it are reflexive, coming more naturally than any alias he’s ever held, regardless of time. He does one final flourish and tucks the paper between the cushions. 

The cops do come, eventually. Peter lets them lead him out. The last thing he sees before the door closes are Juno’s eyes, watching him with a mix of emotions he can’t quite decipher. 

* * *

“He _ate_ it.” 

Nureyev covers his comms so Miasma won’t hear him laughing. 

“Oh, Juno.” He murmurs it before he can truly stop himself. He slides his glove back, just an inch, to examine the spiderwebbed ink across his hand. For once, it’s not covered in a pound of concealer. He still has it well concealed with thick leather gloves--he’s not stupid, after all. 

Miasma is hissing on the line, and he frowns slightly, sliding his glove back down. 

“Of course.” He ends the call. 

This certainly makes things more interesting. Despite his best efforts, Peter is still smiling. 

* * *

He considers, for a moment, that lounging in Juno Steel’s apartment with all the lights off might fall on the wrong side of ridiculous. Then, he considers the detective’s expression and decides that no, he’s perfectly fine. He needs to--he cuts himself off, before the thought spirals into something embarrassing like _needs to see Juno again._ But, the fact of the matter is that he does need Juno. He needs his brains, his brashness, his reasoning skills. This is a job for two, something that makes Peter “I work alone” Nureyev curl his lip instinctively. But, if he must pick a partner, so be it. 

Juno jumps nearly half a foot when the lights finally switch on, and Peter wastes no time.

“Hello, Juno. It’s been a while.” 

“Nureyev?!” Oh, and it does something to his heart, hearing Juno say his name like that. Peter doesn’t know the last time _he_ said that name out loud, let alone trusted it to another person. His soulmate stands before him, looking elegant in the clothes from his mission, if a little worse for wear. Shock and fury are currently battling across his face as he regards Nureyev, lounging in his apartment like he owns the place. 

“The very same. Don’t get too comfortable, Detective. We’re leaving immediately.” Juno sputters, incredulous.

“If you think I’m going anywhere with you--” Peter cuts in.

“I don’t think, Juno. I know. You called me, after all--by way of one Valles Vicky.” Peter privately revels in the look that particular bit of information gets him. Juno looks baffled, but also slightly hurt. If Peter squints and also humors his own feelings a bit, he thinks he can detect a hint of excitement, or perhaps even relief, buried somewhere behind the Detective’s carefully constructed walls. He practically drags Juno out of the apartment, who protests the entire way. Their gloved hands bump as Peter ushers him out the door, and they both dutifully ignore the jolt that travels through the fabric. The door swings shut behind Peter as he drags his reluctant soulmate out into the night.

* * *

By the time they reach the gaudy gates of the Oasis Casino Resort, Juno seems to have relaxed a bit. Being given a goal seems good for him. He’s back to calculating odds and considering escape routes, which is all very good. 

Peter honestly isn’t quite sure how to address Juno’s lack of trust. It’s justified, after all. Peter is man enough to admit that. But he _needs_ Juno to trust him in order for this to work. It’s the most crucial piece of his plan. 

They pause in the foyer, and Peter speaks, handing Juno a stack of fake registration.

“Oh, and you’ll need these.” 

“Hang on, the hell kind of a name is ‘Dahlia Rose’?”

“Yours, now.” Juno glowers at him. “Oh, don’t make that face. Not every name can be as pretty as ‘Juno’.” That gets him a blink and the beginnings of a blush, so he barrels through before either of them have time to make the next part awkward. “You’ll need these, too.” He hands Juno a bottle of concealer and a dark brush. “For your..ah, mark. The couples around here are the sort of people to flaunt all their assets, marks included. Write ‘Duke Rose’ if you would, Detective.” Peter pulls his own gloves off, showing his own neatly hidden mark. _Dahlia Rose_ is written on top of it, clear as day. “Ta, Dahlia dearest. I’ll see you in room one-one-thirteen.” He sets off before Juno can say anything else, sweeping into the nearest hallway. He has a game to set up.

* * *

As they leave Engstrom, Peter absently wonders how he could possibly have been lauding the beginnings of Juno's relaxation a mere handful of hours ago. Now, with a small trickle of blood trailing from his nose, Juno looks as tense as Peter has ever seen him. It takes a moment for him to catch, honestly. He’s still riding the victory of a game well-played. The part of his heart that he’s been attempting to set aside is pounding at how easily he and Juno work together. Engstrom’s face as they stared him down was just the cherry on top. Really, the entire exchange could hardly have gone better. 

Juno seems to disagree, though, if the tighter-and-tighter hunch of his shoulders is anything to go by. 

“Why the long face, Detective? We beat him!” Juno gives him the side-eye. 

“Don’t remind me.” Peter shrugs, giving him a wide smile in an attempt to make his own enthusiasm a little more infectious. 

“Oh, cheer up. You’re alive! That’s better than most people!”

“Most people who work with you?” Juno snaps back, and Peter blinks.

“No, just most people. What’s gotten into you?” Juno grumbles out an excuse about death threats, and Peter sighs. He hadn't expected the collateral to be such an issue. He had no intention of lying in the first place. He wasn’t going to let Juno be gutted for some cheap information. He sighs again and turns to face the source of the complaints.

“If this working relationship--” he puts careful emphasis on the words _working relationship_. “--is to be at all effective, Detective, you’re going to need to at least make an attempt to trust me.” 

“Trust you! Why the hell should I?” Juno nearly laughs. “Because you’re my goddamn soulmate?”

“Detective, I--” Juno cuts him off.

“If that’s your big reason, I’ve got news for you, Nureyev. Having a smudge across the back of my hand for two decades and some change doesn’t mean I trust you. All it means is that it’ll make a better tabloid story when they find my body.” 

“It’s not about _soulmates_ , Juno. I’ve saved your life at least once today.” 

“I figured out the cigarette!” Peter is going to ask him about that; He's genuinely curious. But something in Juno’s outburst catches his attention first. 

“Smudge?” Juno groans.

“Quit trying your distraction tactics, Nureyev, they’re not going to work on me.”

“No. Explain, if you would.” Juno studies his face, apparently trying to glean his evil machinations from his neutral expression. Then he shrugs, looking down at the ground, and starts to speak. 

“My mark used to be your name. When I was a kid. Didn’t think much of it. Then, when I was about seventeen, it...changed. It got wiped, I guess. Ended up with this ink-stain-looking thing across my hand. I guess that must have been when you erased yourself, huh?” Peter does the mental math, factoring in their slight age difference. When Juno was 17, he was on Brahma with--

“Yes, I suppose so.” Juno shifts uncomfortably. 

“Well, it’s back now.”

“Is it?” 

“Yeah. When you left the, er, note, it came back.” Juno clears his throat. “But none of that matters, because the result is the same. I’ve no reason to trust you, alright? You lied to me. You stole Grim’s Mask from me. Then you swing in out of nowhere on a beam of goddamn starlight--”

Peter is still listening, really. His thief training prevents him from ever truly tuning anything out. But while he _is_ still listening to Juno rant, most of his mind is busy processing what he’s just been told. His name was a smudge. It makes sense, in retrospect, even if he feels a spark of irritation at years of paranoia for what ultimately amounted to an ink stain. He’s not sure what it means, exactly, that it ‘came back’. He tries not to think too hard about the implications of Peter Nureyev returning because ‘Rex Glass’ met Juno Steel. He shakes his head and starts getting ready for bed. Juno is still yelling at him. He takes the makeup wipes, wordlessly tossing one behind him. He scrubs at his face first, then his hands. He watches _Juno Steel_ reappear from behind the makeup and thinks, not for the first time, that he is in much, much deeper than he had ever planned to be.

The train is the last thing that’s really, truly clear to Peter. It’s all sharp in his memory: pinning Engstrom down, Juno stumbling out and finishing the job and...Miasma. Miasma and Juno bringing the gun to his own temple and snarling that Peter was coming, too. Juno _trusting_ him, finally. 

Then it gets blurry. It’s pulling cards, a lot. Juno trying to guess, desperately. Pain. Lots of pain. He tries to stay alert, especially when they bring Juno in, blood streaming down his face. He has to stay awake, alert, and ready to find an escape route. And then, an offer. Let Juno read his mind. Willingly. Something about Juno Steel pushes every single one of his boundaries, and he lets them break. Down to letting him stroll around Peter’s mind, witnessing all his trauma and baggage first hand. An escape, and a promise.

“I’ll be back. I promise you I won’t disappear. Do you hear me?” Words slipping from his mouth, charged with endless meaning as he stares at Juno, at his _soulmate_ and knows that he has to make this alright. 

It’s funny, the part without Juno is the least clear of all. But when he sorts through his memories he can pinpoint the moment they become recognizable again. Rescuing Juno and fighting Miasma is all good and clear. But, the moment it is so sharp it’s nearly painful is when Juno smiles at him, exhausted but determined, and slides the airlock door between them. 

“Juno! Juno, what are you doing?” He hears a huff of breath through the door.

“This is the way it’s gotta be, Nureyev.” And no, no no _no_. This isn’t right. 

“No, it isn’t.” He feels anger and chooses to focus on that before the horror renders him useless. “You self-aggrandizing--” Juno cuts in, mumbling about the door and Miasma. Peter brings his hand up to slam against the door, futile as it is. 

“You don’t have to do this alone, you idiot!” He nearly sobs. This isn’t _fair_. He finally has Juno. They were going to make it out. This plan should have worked. 

“Mind if I let you in on a little secret, Nureyev.” Peter can only slump against the door in response.

“You idiot. Juno, you idiot.” 

“You’re the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me.” He laughs. “Wow, that’s a load off. And it’s true! Maybe it seems silly. You’re my soulmate, after all. This is how it’s supposed to work. This is how I’m supposed to feel. It probably shouldn’t be a revelation, huh? But it takes me a while to figure this stuff out, I guess. Nureyev, you make me feel like...maybe it’s all worth it. Like maybe there’s something out there worth seeing.” Peter’s vision blurs. 

“Of course there is. But you need to be alive to see it.” He can think of a thousand things to show Juno. There’s cities and planets and nebulas and galaxies all across the universe and he wants to hold Juno in his arms and show him them all. 

“Ever since that night I tried to turn you in, I’ve been thinking about that--the adventures we were talking about, the bouncing from star to star, leaving this dump behind and seeing what the galaxy’s got to offer.” There’s a growl, and the sound of Juno firing his laser again. “I wish we got the chance to do that, Nureyev. If I’ve got one regret, it’s that.”

“Juno…” Peter regrets it, too. It feels like mourning a dream, somehow. Foolish, and irrational, but still real in it’s own way. His hand is throbbing with pain--no surprise. It’s been twinging with every prod that vile creature put into Juno’s mind. But now it feels like a wire from his hand to his heart, both aching with a sort of agony that he’s never felt before.

“It’s been nice knowing you, Nureyev. It’s been a gift I...don’t deserve.” Peter wants to shout. He wants to drag that stupid, wonderful detective right out of the airlock. He wants to tell him that he deserves Peter Nureyev, every inch of him. He wants to tell him that if anything, Peter Nureyev doesn’t deserve him back. But he can’t get the words out. All he can manage is to choke out,

“Open this door. Juno...Juno!” as the sounds of Miasma and laser fire haze over everything. Peter can only stare at his hand, watching as tears start to drip around the ink. He wonders how many other people have sat like he has, staring at their hands, waiting for the exact second their mark goes ashen gray. A final, irrefutable sign.

There’s a terrible boom, and despite himself, Peter shuts his eyes against it. When his ears stop ringing, it takes a moment for him to open his eyes again. But he’s only delaying the inevitable, so he forces himself to open them and look at his hand. 

His soulmark is still black. 

_Juno Steel_ still shines, stark against his skin, and he scrambles to his feet, only half-processing. 

“Juno? Juno, you impossible idiot, answer me! Answer me please!” The stupid airlock finally, _finally_ deactivates, and he sprints in, honestly clueless as to what he is going to find. Juno is slumped, exhausted and bloody, but breathing, and Peter nearly weeps with relief. 

“Juno...you’re alive. How could you be?” He turns to look at that horrible egg, only to find it sitting just as it was before. Looking harmless as could be. “Where’s Miasma?” Juno speaks, finally. His voice is cracked and hollow, and Peter frowns.

“The weapon went off. Miasma’s dead. Every shred of her...gone.” 

“But...how?” He doesn’t care, honestly. He doesn’t have a pinch of regard left for Miasma, or the weapon. Right now he cares about Juno, and the blood dripping down his face, and the mounting misery filling his voice as he explains his conclusion about the weapon. 

“Miasma’s gone. I’m not. The weapon scrubs Martians clean down to the last cell and doesn’t touch another thing. You have any better theories?” Peter doesn’t. It makes sense. A horrible kind of sense, but Juno has always been good at dragging the most twisted truths out into the light. 

“Only that it doesn’t matter anymore. The Martians are dead, the last of them gone. Their choices have been made and buried in this tomb. You and I, Juno, we’re alive.” He pulls Juno closer and runs a hand through his curls. “And free to make whatever choices we please...and I can think of one I’d like to make right now.” 

He kisses Juno, and he feels some part of himself that has been at odds with the rest finally settle in place. He can admit, now, that he’s wanted to do this since they broke apart in Juno’s apartment so long ago.

“You’re right, they’re gone.” Juno presses their foreheads together, taking a long, shaky breath. “They’re all gone.” Peter sweeps a finger under his cheekbone, and his good eye flutters shut at the touch. He wants to do it again and again, study every single one of Juno’s reactions, but this is neither the place nor the time. So, he pulls Juno up and holds him tight, and together they walk out of the tomb and into the glaring Martian sunlight. 

* * *

The first time Peter really, truly sees Juno’s soulmark is in the hotel. Juno peels off his destroyed gloves, and the ink catches Peter’s eye. He walks over and catches Juno’s hand, gently. He’s been trying to calm him down about his eye, and leaving, and everything. Peter has been trying to calm himself down, too. It takes everything in him not to cling to Juno and never let go. Instead, he studies the mark for a long moment, then brings Juno’s hand up to his lips and kisses it. Juno laughs shortly and calls him a narcissist. But it isn’t that. This isn’t about him. It’s about Juno, living and breathing and simply _existing_ as his soulmate. 

Peter tells himself firmly that he isn’t a romantic, but that isn’t true. He’s running off to the stars with his soulmate, after all. Juno’s told him about at least four of Rita’s favorite streams that match that description. It might be embarrassing if Peter’s heart wasn’t so full. He’s high enough on adrenaline and relief that he can push aside the worry wriggling in the back of his mind as they discuss Hyperion city, and Juno’s face flickers with something unreadable. 

“What do you say you and I begin that beautiful future right now?” Juno doesn’t laugh when Peter presses his lips to his mark again, and certainly not when he moves higher, up Juno’s arm, to his cheek, and finally to his lips again. Peter revels in the sense of peace and belonging that settles over them both. He thinks about how funny it is, that Peter Nureyev, the thief who acts solely in his own self-interest, has spent so long denying himself the thing he wants most of all. 

* * *

If they hadn’t been holding hands, Peter isn’t sure he even would have felt Juno get up. As it is, he feels the rough slide of Juno’s palm, and the cold it leaves behind as his fingers touch the back of Peter’s hand, briefly, then retreat entirely. The springs creak, and then Juno is across the room, near the door.

“Juno,” he murmurs, sleepily. He isn’t processing, really. It isn’t until he hears steady footsteps and the unmistakable creak of the hotel door that he’s even half-awake. Part of him wants to blink sleep off entirely and sit up, demanding to know exactly what Juno thinks he is doing. But Juno might just be getting up to get some water. He might want some fresh air. Maybe he even wants to go stare at the Hyperion skyline and reflect on all he is leaving behind. That seems like Juno.

And if the situation is exactly what it looks like, then, well. Juno has made his choice. Peter pulls the blankets tighter around himself and goes back to sleep.

He wakes up much later than normal. The harsh martian sunlight slants across the room, and a beam lands squarely on the empty space next to him. Peter sighs, and stretches. He isn’t surprised. He tells himself that much. This is pretty standard Juno behavior. The dodginess about trust and commitment are traits he’s seen clearly displayed. And after all, hadn’t Peter left in much the same manner? 

His chest feels tight. His breath catches in his throat, and a lump is forming there dangerously fast. He scrubs fiercely at one eye, daring himself to cry. _This was expected._ He pulls his hand away, only to see Juno’s name emblazoned across it, practically mocking him. He lets it slam against the pillow, just once. Then, he sits up. 

“You’ll be glad to know that you were right, Mag,” he says to the air. The most vulnerable part of the human body, indeed. Peter stretches again and kicks the covers to the side. He heads to the closet, where the spare outfits he requested are hanging neatly. He deliberately ignores _Juno’s_ outfit and keeps his eyes firmly fixed on his own garments. He’ll have to go and buy more. He has a ship to catch. He can probably sell the extra ticket at an inflated price and secure more funds for himself.

He’s still a little worse-for-wear after the tomb incident, but Peter thinks that all-in-all, he’s perfectly presentable. Enough for _Hyperion City,_ certainly, though he has no intention of staying for more than a few hours, at the absolute most. 

It isn’t that he’s not upset. If he stops to think about it, Peter knows that he just might be torn apart by it all. _If you’re a fool, that makes two of us._ He certainly feels like a fool. But feeling that way does not accomplish his goals. And yes, maybe his goals have changed, but he still has them. He has work to do. Important work. He’ll have time to think about this later. Right now, he needs to get out of this city and off of this planet. Peter slides his gloves on with a grim sort of determination. Most of his shopping can wait until he’s off-world again, but he should pick up more concealer as soon as possible. It will make it easier to put all of this aside. It will be simpler, for now, to just file all of this away. 

For future consideration. 

**Author's Note:**

> Me? Resolve a fic without angst? Ha! No worries, there will be a third part to this saga (maybe even a fourth). And it shouldn't take me another year. I had to take a break from writing for fun to write for school, which I promise sucked just as much as it sounds like it did. Buuuuut, I have a couple more penumbra fics in the works unrelated to this one, so stay tuned!  
> Leave a comment and kudos if you enjoyed :^) Oh, and come yell with me on tumblr: https://saltystylus.tumblr.com/


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